


Broken Apollo and his Dionysus

by guineamania



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Enjolras being reckless, Hospitals, Love Confessions, M/M, Shooting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-25
Updated: 2014-05-25
Packaged: 2018-01-26 12:30:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1688414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/guineamania/pseuds/guineamania
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A protest goes wrong and guns are raised. At the end of this conflict, the mighty Apollo is falling and Grantaire blames himself. Will Enjolras wake from his endless sleep and will Grantaire ever forgive himself?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Broken Apollo and his Dionysus

“Julien stay with me! Come on don’t do this!” Grantaire cried holding his mighty Apollo’s head in his arms. “Someone help me!” he cried tears streaming down his face. Both men were worse for wear and battered. Grantaire’s hair was matted with blood … not all was his own and his face was stained with dirt, blood and tears. However Enjolras was in a much worse condition than his drunken counterpart. The revolutionary leader was limp in Grantaire’s arms and warm crimson blood was tricking out from his chest. As the blood drained, his face took on a deathly pale tone making him look less like marble and more like porcelain. Grantaire could not believe that his solid marble statue could bleed like an everyday human being. But here he was … bleeding out on the cold floor. The rain poured down drenching both figures but Grantaire hardly noticed the droplets hit him. Tears mixed with the rain as they both raced down his face. Combeferre, Joly and their designated doctors ran over to Grantaire and his charge. “I di-did … it’s all m-my fault,” he stammered, clutching after Enjolras’ body as he was taken away.

“He is still alive Taire, we need to get some treatment for him,” Combeferre insisted and Grantaire nodded clutching his head in his hands. 

“All my fault … it’s all my fault!” he cried rocking backwards and forwards. 

“Grantaire, R, it’s alright,” a familiar voice said softly sitting down in the rain next to him. Grantaire was wet through and his clothes stuck to his frame. The drunkard was trembling from the cold but mostly the fear. 

“It’s my fault, my fault,” he cried curling up tighter. The pain in his heart outweighed the external pain and he did not notice the patch of red blossom on his hip. Blood dripped surrounding him but nothing mattered now his Apollo was dying.

“R, come on it isn’t your fault,” the voice, he now recognised as Eponine’s, said comfortingly. She softly held him, letting him bury his tear stained face into her shoulder. 

“It i-is!” he sobbed. “Th-that bullet, was meant f-for me,” he cried as Eponine stroked his wet, blood-stained dirty brown hair.

“Don’t be stupid Taire,” she insisted kissing the top of his head softly. “Let’s get you home,” she sighed and helped him unsteadily to his feet. They stumbled back to Grantaire’s apartment and he collapsed on the bed as tears continued to stream down his red cheeks. Eponine tore off his soaked, torn shirt and threw it on the floor. The blood still seeped from where the bullet had grazed him. Eponine tore up the ruined shirt and bandaged up his side while Grantaire cried his heart out. Grantaire cried himself to sleep and that night was plagued with dreams of his Apollo dying in horrible blood filled situations.

Grantaire awoke slowly the next morning and slowly the events of the night before trickled back painfully. He bit back a sob; this woke up the dozing Eponine sat on a chair beside him. 

“Don’t cry R,” she said softly hugging him. “Enjolras is stable now, they think he is going to be alright but he is unconscious,” she told him and he was out of bed in an instant, stumbling slightly. 

“I have to see him!” Grantaire cried out desperately and Eponine nodded. 

“Let’s get you cleaned up then you can see him,” she replied calmly but Grantaire was already sprinting out of the door grabbing a jacket as he ran. Eponine sighed while grumbling to herself before grabbing a coat and chasing after the frantic drunkard.

The hospital was shrouded in an eerie silence. There was hardly any movement until the panicked winecask sprinted in the door. “I’m here to see Julien Enjolras,” he panted to the first nurse he saw.

“I am sorry but it is family only currently,” she apologised and Grantaire began to hyperventilate in pure panic.

“N-no! No! I have to see him!” Grantaire exclaimed hysterically until a hand clasped him on the shoulder. 

“He’s with me, Julien would wish to see him,” Combeferre interrupted solemnly and the nurse nodded.

“T-thank you,” Grantaire panted. “How come they let you in?” he asked confused.

“Enj wrote me as his next of kin and emergency contact on everything. I am his brother,” Combeferre explained supporting Grantaire down the corridor. Combeferre looked exhausted and dark shadows circled his eyes in contrast with the pale hue to his skin. “They think he will pull through … Enj is strong like that,” Combeferre sighed and Grantaire sighed in relief.

“I’m so sorry, it is all my fault!” Grantaire exclaimed and Combeferre sighed. 

“It is not your fault Taire, stop telling yourself it is,” Combeferre insisted sternly and Grantaire could not argue with that tone of voice. “He’s in there,” Combeferre muttered opening the door for Grantaire to walk in.

Grantaire stepped slowly into the room breathing as quietly as he could. He did not feel like he had the right to be here with his Apollo but he just had to see him and apologise. That bullet was meant for him, not the mighty Apollo. Grantaire could not stop being shocked that a single mortal bullet could do this to his Apollo. Apollo was supposed to be immortal; but yet he looked very mortal lain on the spotless white hospital bed. Grantaire sat solemnly next to the marble figure. He still looked like marble like Grantaire commonly referred to him as; but yet this time he was marble due to the slow breaths and pale complexion, not stony features and strong resolve. His Apollo was falling, and Grantaire prayed that someone would catch him before it was too late. 

The seat was empty next to Enjolras' head and Grantaire fell into it trying to hold back the tears that threatened to pour again. "I'm sorry ... I'm so sorry," he whispered on the verge of tears. A nurse walked in as his head dropped into his hands. 

"They say that he will be able to hear everything you say to him," the nurse murmured comfortingly. Grantaire raised his head slightly to look at her. "It could even make him wake up quicker," she smiled weakly as Grantaire sniffed back the tears. 

"Th-thank you," he stuttered as she left them alone again. “I hope you can hear me Enjolras,” he whispered. “Because I don’t think I would be able to say this to your face,” Grantaire mumbled wringing his hands, “I love you … I always have. And it is my fault you are laying there.

“During that protest, I was supposed to be protecting you. That was my only job and I failed again! A soldier raised his carbine at me and I dodged. That bullet then hit you, and is why you are laid here dying. Damn, it should be me Apollo! I would give anything to swap places with you. Why do I always fail you? I adore you, I always have but you deserve better than a useless drunkard. Sometimes I think you would be better off if I disappeared! But then I am a selfish bastard. I would rather die than be unable to see you anymore. I wish to be your disciple like the rest of the amis but … but I just can’t bring myself to believe! The cause is stupid but you are beautiful. Oh, you don’t realise how much I want you to wake up now so we can have another of our famous arguments. If you don’t wake up … then, well then, I will join you,” Grantaire mumbled quickly as the emotion flooded out with the truth.

Grantaire’s voice gave way and he burst into tears again still holding his precious Apollo’s limp hand. He cried, staring at the floor as the rest of his emotion poured out in the form of the salty tears. “All I want is to be your drunkard … you are Apollo, I want to be your Dionysus,” he wept. The only noise was the sound of Grantaire’s despair flooding out into the open. He felt a slight movement in his hand and froze. A firm squeeze followed and Grantaire gawped. He hurriedly wiped to unshed tears out of his eyes. Enjolras was awake and staring intently at Grantaire. “Enjolras! Enjolras, thank God you’re alive,” he exclaimed, frantically jumping off the chair. The chair clattered to the floor but he didn’t notice; Enjolras filled his mind. 

“Gr-Grantaire,” Enjolras stuttered looking up at him. “Ssit back down,” he asked and Grantaire nodded picking up the fallen chair and sat at his Apollo’s side. 

“I’m so, so sorry! It was all my fault, that bullet,” he exclaimed frantically before Enjolras gently placed a trembling finger over his lips.

“Can you please be quiet Grantaire? I am trying to rest,” he sighed and Grantaire’s excitement fell along with Enjolras’ trembling hand. Grantaire began to stand up; his mind was racing and his heart shattered. A firm tug on his hand from Enjolras pulled his back into the lone chair, “Stay … please stay. I need you here, my Dionysus.”


End file.
